“Mrs. Fentolin!” he exclaimed, aghast.

An hysterical cry, choked and subdued, broke from her lips.  He half carried, half led her to his easy-chair.  Suddenly steadied by the presence of this unlooked-for emergency, he closed the outside door and relit the lamp with firm fingers.  Then he turned to face her, and his amazement at this strange visit became consternation.

She was still in her dinner-gown of black satin, but it was soaked through with the rain and hung about her like a black shroud.  She had lost one shoe, and there was a great hole in her silk stocking.  Her hair was all disarranged; one of its numerous switches was hanging down over her ear.  The rouge upon her cheeks had run down on to her neck.  She sat there, looking at him out of her hollow eyes like some trapped animal.  She was shaking with fear.  It was fear, not faintness, which kept her silent.

“Tell me, please, what is the matter?” he insisted, speaking as indifferently as he could.  “Tell me at once what has happened?”

She pointed to the door.

“Lock it!” she implored.

He turned down the latch and drew the bolt.  The sound seemed to give her a little courage.  Her fingers went to her throat for a moment.

“Give me some water.”

He poured out some soda-water.  She drank only a sip and put it down again.  He began to be alarmed.  She had the appearance of one who has suddenly lost her senses.

“Please tell me just what has happened?” he begged.  “If I can help in any way, you know I will.  But you must tell me.  Do you realise that it is three o’clock?  I should have been in bed, only I went to sleep over the fire here.”

“I know,” she answered.  “It is just the wind that has taken away my breath.  It was a hard struggle to get here.  Listen—­you are our friend, Mr. Hamel—­Esther’s and mine?  Swear that you are our friend?”

“Upon my honour, I am,” he assured her.  “You should know that.”

“For eight years,” she went on, her voice clear enough now, although it seemed charged with a curious metallic vibration, “for eight years we’ve borne it, all three of us, slaves, bound hand and foot, lashed with his tongue, driven along the path of his desires.  We have seen evil things.  We have been on the point of rebellion, and he’s come a little nearer and he’s pointed back.  He has taken me by the hand, and I have walked by the side of his chair, loathing it, loathing myself, out on to the terrace and down below, just where it happened.  You know what happened there, Mr. Hamel?”

“You mean where Mr. Fentolin met with his accident.”

“It was no accident!” she cried, glancing for a moment around her.  “It was no accident!  It was my husband who took him up and threw him over the terrace, down below; my husband who tried to kill him; Esther’s father—­Gerald’s father!  Miles was in the Foreign Office then, and he did something disgraceful.  He sold a secret to Austria.  He was always a great gambler, and he was in debt.  Seymour found out about it.  He followed him down here.  They met upon the terrace.  I—­I saw it!”